


Claimed

by Mochas N Mayhem (KoohiiCafe)



Series: Claimed [1]
Category: Shall We Date?: Obey Me!
Genre: AFAB Main Character, Begging, Breeding, Claiming, Demon Sex, Dominant Diavolo, F/M, Fingerfucking, Fisting, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Knotting, Mates, Mild Blood, Multiple Orgasms, Oral Sex, Overstimulation, Oviposition, Possessive Behavior, Power Exchange, Size Kink, Spanking, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:41:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28464726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KoohiiCafe/pseuds/Mochas%20N%20Mayhem
Summary: You've been dancing this dance back and forth with Diavolo for what feels like ages. When you're together, it's alwaysyouwho's half or fully naked. Always his hands on you, his mouth marking you, giving you pleasure. The most you get to see ofhimis his arms, his neck and shoulders, his chest when he allows you to strip his shirt from his gloriously muscled form. Anytime you try and push for more, anytime your fingers seek the fastenings of his trousers, he catches your hands in his and turns the attention back to you. He never tells you why, most often distracting you before you can ask. The times when you do ask, his answer is always simple;"You're not ready yet, my dear."And. Well. You'retiredof it. You know that you're his, you long ago accepted him as prince and lord and master, regardless of which realm you call home. But you are more than ready to call himyourstoo.
Relationships: Diavolo (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!)/Reader, Diavolo/Lucifer (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!), Diavolo/Main Character (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!)
Series: Claimed [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2098212
Comments: 11
Kudos: 301





	Claimed

**Author's Note:**

> This is it. This is how I end the Year of Hell that is 2020. With something I never imagined I'd end up writing, but I actually enjoyed writing. So this is it folks! Another discord inspired and written fic, dedicated to the wonderfully kinky and perverted folks on the server who provided a _fantastic_ captive audience as I wrote. 😆

You've been dancing this dance back and forth with Diavolo for what feels like ages. 

You flirt; he flirts back. When you spend time alone with him, you make sure to _visibly_ enjoy how good he looks out of his RAD uniform, black sleeves rolled up, tie abandoned, shirt unbuttoned down several buttons to show off the tanned expanse of his bare skin- or, on the few occasions he's donned his demon form for your dates, you make _certain_ to stare, unabashedly, at _all_ the skin it bares to your eyes. He grins at your show of appreciation, and returns it in full; you and Asmo together have spent more on the best designed and most high fashion sexy outfits for these dates than even Mammon spent when he stole Lucifer's credit card last month ( _it's driving Lucifer insane, but oh well, it's worth it_ ), and Diavolo _knows_ that it's all for his benefit. 

More than once, you've given your respective minders ( _Barbatos for him, Lucifer for you, and sometimes the **rest** of the brothers too_) the slip to spend time alone; that's when things get _really_ heated. He loves pinning you against any available surface ( _walls, doors, shelves, desks, tables, the list goes on and on_ ) and kissing not just the breath out of you, but your very _life_ as well. _Fuck_ the way he kisses, it feels like he's devouring you, like he could eat you alive with his kiss. 

( _He definitely **can**. You are absolutely aware that any of your demons could devour you whole, you **remember** how much a danger that once was, before they came to care for you the way they do now. And if, sometimes, you find yourself thinking about **exactly** that as you masturbate alone in the dark of your bedroom, well, no one has to know._)

Of course, neither of you are content to stop at kissing; more often that you can count, yet not near enough for your tastes, you've found yourself half-naked ( _and sometimes **fully** so_) before him, his hands roaming your bare skin, his teeth and tongue licking, biting, and marking you as _his_. Nowhere visible while your RAD uniform is on, at your insistence ( _you don't want your classmates thinking that you're getting through school on your back, not when you've worked damn hard to do as well as you do_ ), but certainly where the brothers can and _have_ seen when you're dressed casually. 

( _And **especially** where they can be seen in the outfits you wear on your dates- as if Diavolo's absolute insistence on touching you in public as much as decorum allows isn't threat enough to any demon who might look at you twice._) 

But it's always _you_ who's half or fully naked. Always _his_ hands on you, his mouth marking you, giving you pleasure. His fingers or tongue diving into your slick folds to bring you to completion _screaming_ his name. The most you get to see of him is his arms, his neck and shoulders, his chest when he allows you to strip his shirt from his gloriously muscled form. Anytime you try and push for more, anytime your fingers seek the fastenings of his trousers, he catches your hands in his and turns the attention back to you. He never tells you why, most often distracting you before you can ask. The times when you _do_ ask, his answer is always simple; 

"You're not ready yet, my dear." 

And. Well. You're _tired of it_. You want him. You want _all_ of him. You know that you're his, you long ago accepted him as prince and lord and master, regardless of which realm you call home. But you are _more_ than ready to call him _yours_ too.

You've made it to his bedroom this time, without any of your minders finding you. This is it, you decide. Here with Diavolo in his own bedroom, all alone, no one to interrupt. It's now or never. You wait until he's distracted, until he is biting at your lips, fangs giving his kiss a _delicious_ pain, until his tongue forcibly parts your lips to let him in. It takes every iota of willpower and brainpower you have, to not _melt_ into his perfectly experienced kiss, but somehow, you manage it. 

He has one of your hands trapped in his own giant one, fingers fully encircling your wrist easily, claw tips resting against the delicate skin there; he pins it above your head to the door he's pressed you against. Your other hand is free; you slap it harshly, palm down, against the door at your side. The noise doesn't phase him, his only reaction to growl into your kiss; the wordless magic you channel down your arm though, through your hand and along your fingers, and then into the door- _does_.

He pulls back, glancing first at the door, running his gaze over it appraisingly. There's nothing there for _you_ to see, you know because you've practiced the spell a few times in your bedroom, wanting to make absolutely certain you got it right now- but apparently _he_ can see something, because he grins and then turns his attention back to you. His expression is a mixture of amusement and lust, his eyes glinting and smoldering both, and he teases, 

"It's good to know that you've been practicing your spells. That's a _very_ impressive privacy ward you've raised; your instructors must be very proud of you." 

Yes, because that's what you want to talk about now. _School_. You barely keep from rolling your eyes, and smirk at him instead. 

"Asmo was _very_ pleased with how strong I've been able to make it," you tell him, and you let your tone lower, speaking as if sharing one of your deepest secrets. "It's been amazing for spending time with him in his room alone. Just the two of us, all by ourselves. No interruptions from anyone else. Why, we can get up to anything we want then!" 

Gold eyes flash down at you. You half expect him to growl or snarl at the implications of your words; you phrased it like that for a reason. He merely smirks in return, and then suddenly your free hand is no longer free; he captures it and lifts it to join your other already trapped hand. "You _could_ , yes." 

His tone is easy going, like he's still talking about your RAD instructors. 

"But I think even the Avatar of Lust knows better than to touch what is mine. You _are_ mine, aren't you?" 

It's a clear challenge to refute or deny him. You take him up on it.

"Am I though," you ask, arching an eyebrow at him. You don't bother to tug at your hands in his; breaking his grip is impossible for a mortal such as yourself. You continue instead, "Can I truly be yours when you refuse to share yourself with me? Can I truly be yours when you refuse to fully _claim me_?" 

You know at least a _little_ about what it means for a demon to claim a mate for their own; Asmo has ensured that. He's also assured you ( _much to your displeasure each time it comes up_ ) that the prince _hasn't_ claimed you yet. There is more to claiming than kissing and biting and pleasure for only _one_ of those involved. 

"Until you _do_ claim me, by your own law, I am fair game for any other to take for their own, _my lord_." 

He _does_ growl this time, and then it's not just your hands pinned against the door; he scoops you up with his free hand as easily as one might lift a child. Clawed fingers dig into your ass, hard enough to be painful, hard enough that you know he's torn holes into the thin material of your leggings; you wrap your legs around him automatically as your back slams into the door hard enough to make the wall shake.

"I would devour any who touch you," he says darkly, his voice deeper than usual, deep enough that you can _feel_ the word rumble through you. "Not even the Lords are exempt from that, which Asmodeus knows _quite well_." 

Of _course_ Asmo knows. That's not the point. You smirk more, uncowed by his apparent threat towards his own Lords, and ask innocently, 

" _None_ of the Lords?" Your other eyebrow joins the first, arched high, and you continue playfully, as if he isn't all but crushing the breath out of you with the way his chest presses yours to the door. "Not even Lucifer?"

You more feel his growl than hear it this time, the sound too low for your human ears; it reverberates oddly through you, not just one steady growl, and you realize he's not just growling but _speaking_. It's Infernal, you realize, a language you have no hope of ever hearing, much less understanding or speaking. Lucifer will surely be hearing about this later, nevermind that he’s done absolutely nothing to you. You should probably feel bad for that. 

Maybe later. There's no time for it now, because the moment the rumbling vibration of his voice falls away, he's kissing you angrily. He is _all_ teeth and fangs this time; you taste blood as he bites down enough to pierce the soft flesh of your lip. You make a sound somewhere between a whimper and a groan, kissing him back as roughly as you can. You barely notice the way the claws on your ass rip completely through your leggings now, shredding the thin fabric into ribbons as he tears it away from your body; your panties share the same fate. He pulls away from your lips only as claw tipped fingers slide between your already long slick folds, finding your clit unerringly and _pinching_ roughly. 

"Lucifer is mine just as you are, but not even he is exempt. If he were to touch you without my permission, he would be _punished_."

You cry out sharply, breath stolen from your lungs with pain, even as heat coils quickly in your belly, arousal and desire washing over you as fresh slick slips from your sex. He releases your clit only to thrust a finger within your channel; he drags the point of his claw against your inner walls, enough to _hurt_ but not break skin, and you whimper despite yourself. You try to clench down around his finger, as if you could somehow still it, and he laughs at you. 

That laugh enrages you. He's not taking this seriously, but you are as serious as death. You are _tired_ of being put off, tired of being told that you're not ready, tired of knowing that you still aren't _really_ his, no matter how much you want to be, no matter how much he says you are. You're putting a stop to it _now_. 

You growl, and even though it's the loudest and angriest you've ever been, the sound is a weak parody of his own. He laughs again. Then, using his own grip on your pinned hands as an anchor, you _surge_ up and bite into his lower lip hard enough that when you taste blood this time, it's _not_ your own. It's a taste much _richer_ , thicker, tasting not just of iron but also of fire and brimstone and something far more primal.

Suddenly you're no longer against the door, his finger slipping free of you. For the briefest of seconds, the world whips around you; your back hits the bed with enough force to make you cry out. You feel claws scrap up your belly and between your breasts, and then a _ripping_ sound heralds the death of your shirt and bra, leaving you completely bare beneath your prince. Yet he is still _frustratingly_ covered, not even out of his RAD uniform. 

You start to push up, scowling, "Diav-" 

You cut off as the air above you and around him lights and glimmers. His transformation, unlike every other time you've seen it, is wreathed in something that looks like fire, but is far _colder_ ; the temperature between you drops low enough to send goosebumps over your entire naked body, to tighten your nipples so that they're _painfully, achingly_ hard, pulling another whimper from you. Before the vision of fire fades, you hear a muffled thud of metal; when you can see him, his chest is completely bare, his fur mantle and collar, with all their golden chains and trappings, already discarded somewhere across the room. 

You freeze, even your breath stopping. You've seen him bare-chested in human form, the one he favors for most of your dates, and all of your times alone, but like this he is... _more_. So much _more_ , looming over you with wings fully extended behind him, horns curved around his head and pointing down almost menacingly at you. Gold glints at his forearms, dark lines swirling over his chest that seem to absorb all light that dares touch them. You _itch_ to touch, you want to drag your hands over all that bare skin, want to know if he feels _different_ like this. 

Your fingers twitch. Diavolo snarls. 

"If you move," he tells you, and there is zero doubt that his words are an order, "I will leave you here alone just like this. Desperate and needy, so wet you're staining the sheets already, with no clothing and no one to call for help. Do you understand?"

You nod breathlessly, with zero hesitation. If it means that he will _finally_ give you what you've wanted for so long, you will be still for however long it takes. Golden eyes narrow as he stares at you, as if waiting for you to disobey him. What feels like an age later, but is likely only a scant few seconds, he pulls up and away from you. 

He takes his time as he moves to sit on the edge of the bed. He turns his gaze from you to begin the task of working off his boots; you remain perfectly still regardless, having no doubts that he would still know if you moved even without his eyes on you. He speaks as he tugs at one boot, his voice calm, 

"While none of your classes cover demonic mating rituals and courtships, I have no doubt that Asmodeus has been... _educating_ you on the subject. Tell me, how many mates is a single demon allowed to take for themselves?" 

You have to suppress the urge to snort. That's a gimme, and you both know it. 

"There is no limit," you answer without bothering to cover the snarkiness of your tone. "Demons can take as many mates as they wish, and most take _many_ over their lives." You pause, and let yourself half smirk, half snort, as you add, "You live for thousands and thousands of years. Why limit the number of beings you can take as a mate." 

"Correct," he says cheerfully, and it's that same, playful voice he always uses in public, whether he's talking just to you, or to the masses of students at RAD. You _hate_ hearing that voice right now, when it's just the two of you, when you're _naked_ and at his will and he's just... 

"Second question," he interrupts the thought, and there's a thud as one boot drops to the floor. "How many mates do most demons of noble blood take?"

This time you don't bite back your huff at the question. It's another easy one, and you answer confidently. "Same answer. There's no limit to how many they can take-" 

"Ah, ah," he interrupts, and you can _hear_ the smirk in his voice. "I didn't ask you how many they _can_ take; I asked how many they _take_." 

The prince of the Devildom is arguing word semantics with you while you're naked in his bed and he's half disrobed. For fuck's sake. You huff, louder and stronger this time, and speak again over the thud of his other boot hitting the floor. 

"Typically less than lower class demons," you tell him grudgingly, and okay, it's not just semantics, there _is_ a difference. _Still._

"Why is that?" he asks, still facing away. There's a jingling of metal- the chains around his hips?- and you bite your lip. 

"Nobles prefer to take fewer mates, but more lovers; children born of anyone other than a mate aren't considered to be of their blood, and do not become members of nobility." 

" _Very good, my dear_ ," Diavolo all but purs, and you _hate_ how just the sound of those words from his lips makes your inner walls clench with need.

"How many mates have the Lords taken," he asks next, and the sound of chains jingling increases. You watch as he pulls the entire chain belt from his waist and drops it loudly to the floor. 

Shit. That one you... don't actually know the answer to. At least, not completely. Dutifully though, you name off the ones you _do_ know. "Lucifer is your mate," you say first. You don't _think_ the first-born has other mates, but you don't actually know for certain. Mammon doesn't have any, you think- at least not any that he's still in contact with. Levi _definitely_ doesn't. Satan.... no? 

"Asmo took Solomon as a mate," you say next, and this time you _know_ he doesn't have any others. He'd teased about taking you, early on, before Diavolo's interest in you became clear, but you know that all the rest of the people he sleeps with are either lovers, or simple flings. And, "Beel and Belphie took each other as mates," you finish. Like the rest of their brothers, you don't _think_ they have other mates, but it's not like it's anything anyone ever talks about either. 

Diavolo stands, and the black, gold-studded wrap falls from his waist to the floor. 

"Is that it?" he asks, and his tone is challenging. Is that _really_ it? Is that your whole answer? You grimace, but, 

"That's it," you venture, _hoping._

"Correct," he chuckles, and you're treated to a rather spectacular view of his ass as he hooks his fingers in the white trousers beneath his white and gold loincloth, pulling them down his legs. "Now, last question. How many mates do _I_ have?"

You bite your lip without thinking; the metallic taste of blood hits your tongue again, from where Diavolo had bitten into it before, but you don't flinch or stop biting. You _think_ you know the answer to this one. You _hope_. There's only one way to find out. 

"One," you tell him after a long, _long_ moment. Only Lucifer. As far as you know, Diavolo has _only_ taken Lucifer as a mate. 

" _Wrong_ ," Diavolo growls, and when he turns to you, there is thunderous fire in his eyes. Clad only in the loincloth, he's on the bed and above you in an instant. You don't even have time to shriek in surprise before he flips you over onto your stomach. One hand pins you to the bed at the small of your back, claws pressed threateningly against your skin in five pinpricks of pain. He snarls out, "I have _two_ , whether I have taken you yet or not." 

_Fire_ burns your backside, a loud _crack_ sounding as his other hand meets your ass hard enough to make you scream, tears stinging your eyes immediately. Then he raises his hand and, as you struggle futilely against the hand pinning you, he spanks you again, and then _again_.

Thankfully- fuck _thankfully_ \- he stops there. Not that that stops the crying the pain of just those three strikes has forced upon you. It's not that you've never been spanked before, not that you've never played such games in the bedroom- but that had been with _human_ lovers. Nothing could have prepared you for being spanked by the Prince of the Devildom, a thought that is only made worse by the knowledge that that _certainly_ wasn't anywhere near Diavolo's full strength. Were he to strike you with full force, you know instinctively that you wouldn't survive. 

And yet- _Yet_. 

You realize, as you start to come back from the pain, that 

_**1.**_ You're just as aroused as you've been since this all started- no, even _more_. There's something thrilling about knowing that such a powerful being could end your existence with a flick of his hand, yet he's _not_. Instead, he _wants_ you, wants you enough to punish you so that he can _keep_ you. 

_**2.**_ You're no longer pinned by your stomach to the bed. Diavolo is sitting on the bed, clad in his loincloth still, his back against the pillows and wall, and you're on your stomach and draped over his otherwise bare lap. One hand is stroking your ass gently, the tender touch a direct contrast to the way his claws pointedly scratch the heated, aching skin every so often. 

_**3.**_ You can feel his cock hard against your belly, only the sinfully soft fabric of the loincloth separating you and it. And what you can feel of it..... _fuck_ he's _huge_.

Diavolo is the first to speak, although he kindly waits until you're fully back to yourself- how he can tell, you don't ask, don't care. What you do care about are the words that leave his lips. 

"Let's try this again, my little mate," he says calmly. Then his voice dips, a clear warning in the question. "How. Many. Mates. Do. I. Have?" 

The hand on your ass stills. Claws dig in painfully, and you know he's broken skin with as deep as they go. You shudder. Bite back a whimper. And you answer, 

"Two." 

"Very good," he growls, and your entire body shivers in pleasure at knowing you've pleased him. He withdraws his claws from your flesh and then he's shifting you. He lifts you as easily as you might lift a doll, turning you so that you're sitting upright in his lap facing him, the white of his loincloth against your ass; you spare a brief moment for the thought that you're bleeding on it, staining the bright fabric crimson, but if he doesn't care, you _certainly_ don't. 

"Correct answers deserve a reward," you dare to state, and it's not a question. Diavolo laughs. 

"You're not afraid of anything, are you?" he says with a smirk. "That's what makes you so intriguing. What makes you _mine_."

"Exactly," you dare again, and his smirk grows. He nods then, and acquiesces, 

"You have earned a reward. Tell me what you wish, and I will consider it." 

There is zero hesitation before you answer, your voice firm. 

" _Claim me._ " 

He stares at you without answer, eyes narrowing. You jerk your chin up, meeting his gaze resolutely. Whatever he's looking for, you _will_ him to find it. He _will_ find it. You refuse to let him give you any other answer but 'yes,' your prince and lord or not. He tilts his head back in response. Then he asks, casually, 

"Do you think you would survive my claiming?" he asks, and his voice is neither that easy-going public voice he puts out for others, nor the private one he reserves for only you when you're alone. His tone is a perfect mask, as is his expression, giving absolutely nothing away. He looks almost like a stranger like this, and something in your chest aches. You answer confidently anyway. 

"I don't care. You will either claim me, or I'll leave." You have to pause, taking a moment to steel yourself. If you're not firm here, you will _never_ get what you want, and you know it. "I will leave the exchange program, the Devildom, and I'll leave _you_. I'll ask one of the angels, or maybe Solomon, to take me home, and you will _never_ see me again." 

He stares at you expressionlessly. Neither of you speaks for a long moment. You open your mouth- hesitate... Then you add. "If I can't be yours, I don't want to be forever in your shadow- in _Lucifer's_ shadow."

You don't know how long it is that you stare at each other silently. It feels like an eternity. Every moment that crawls by makes your chest ache more and more. His silent gaze pierces you to the core, makes something in you want to break, makes you want to cry. You don't. You refuse to. You won't show weakness no matter what his answer is. 

Then, eternity comes to a stop, along with your heart, when your prince speaks. 

"If you regret your decision," he says, his voice a warning, but the look in his eyes tells you that he already made his decision, "it will be too late. Once the claiming begins, there is no turning back; you will be mine until the end of time. Not even death will be an escape from me." 

Something inside you breaks. You shudder, his words lighting a spark within you, sending heat roaring through you. You try to tell him, 

"It's not me who will-"

You're on your back then, the word torn from your lips before they can be said, air equally torn from your lungs by the abrupt movement. You hear the sound of ripping fabric, a flash of white disappearing from the corner of your eye, and then the only thing you can see is _Diavolo_. Your gaze runs greedily down his body, seeking that which he has kept from you for _so long_ , what you have wanted _so desperately, for so long_. What meets your eyes is... 

He's _huge_ , larger than any man you've ever seen, larger than you think _any_ human man could possibly be. You don't- fuck, how did that hide beneath his clothing, demon or human form either? His cock is larger than your forearm, and just about as thick- _most_ of it, at least. Ridges run almost the full length of it, tilted back enough at _just_ the right angle that they'll feel _amazing_ going in as well as pulling out; each one is ringed with gold, like the marks on his forearms, a bright and stark contrast to the way his tanned skin fades dark along his length, into black that, like the swirls on his chest, seem to absorb all light. The base of it was oddly wide and bulbous, flaring out to either side; your hole clenchs deep within as you try to imagine _how_ that would possibly fit within you, fuck, would he split you in two with it? 

Then there's the head of his cock; it looks _nothing_ like any cock you have ever seen period, human, demonic, animal, fantasy, dildo, or otherwise. It's half as wide as the bulge at the base, its edge gold rimmed and flaring oddly out. The center of it is- it's _hollow_ , not just a centimeter or so, but at least half an inch, maybe more; it's weeping a thick, viscous, not quite clear fluid that has already nearly coated his entire length. You can't help stare, your mouth going dry as you take it in.

Diavolo chuckles low as he watches you, as he watches your shock and confusion and- maybe, no- _yes_ \- fear washes over you. He _warned_ you, you remember. Warned you that you might not survive his claiming, that you would regret it. And he warned you that there was no turning back. 

You don't want to turn back. There's fear running through you, yes, but also _need_. If your prince tears you apart in his claiming of you, well... He had _also_ warned you that not even death would allow you to escape him. As long as you are _his_ , finally and fully _his_ , then you will accept whatever comes of this, including death. 

"Do you still wish to be claimed," he asks, crawling over you. He'd warned you- yet he stills offers you a way out. 

" _Fuck me_ ," you spit out, and it comes out sharply, certainly sharper than you intended. You don't take it back. 

Diavolo laughs. It's not his booming, cheerful laugh intended to appease and set the public at ease. It's warm, rich, dark, threatening, and _yours_. 

"So be it."

He gives you no time to react before he's dipped down. Clawed hands take your thighs, spreading them forcefully, _painfully_ ; he holds them there in his grip, and then the gold gilded points of his horns are digging into the sensitive skin above your sex, the outer curves of them brushing and almost bracing your thighs as much as his grasp. As his tongue finds your soaking folds, his wings twitch above him and then come down to cover you both; the rest of the room disappears, and your world narrows down to the black, red, and gold of his wings, the bright red hair between your legs that is crowned by his horns, by the tan and black swirled expanse of his back. 

That, and _pleasure_. It's far from the first time he's eaten you out and pleasured you like this, but it's _different_ somehow this time. He's never done so like this, in his natural state, no glamours to hide what he is. He's never done so while so _completely_ bared to you- he'd _never been bared_ to you like this, demon or human form either. And he's never done so when you _knew_ that you were _finally_ going to have all of him. **All of him**. 

Really, if you weren't flying so high on your win, on that knowledge, it might be embarrassing how quickly he brings you to your first orgasm, and then another almost immediately on the heels of it. You cry out in pleasure and then overstimulation as golden eyes watch you from between your legs, something dark and possessive in his gaze. He doesn't give you any time after those two either; he pulls away, straightening and moving higher over you. No sooner has he sat up than he shifts to brace your thighs with his own, leaning over you as a single finger slides easily within you.

"Diavolo, p- please," you start, your voice pleading. A claw runs painfully across your clit, cutting your plea off into a cry. 

"I am your lord," he growls, and a second finger joins the first within you. He pumps them in and out quickly and expertly, his thumb shifting to rub at your clit with the pad of it, rather than a claw. "You will address me as such, my mate. You will take whatever your lord chooses to give you. Do you understand?" 

You don't make the same mistake you'd made earlier; immediately you answer, " _Yes_ , my lord." 

He hums, pleased, and then there are no more words. He fucks you with both fingers, pressing deep and scissoring them to stretch you; every so often he curls them within you to find that spot deep within you that makes you cry out in instant pleasure. He's careful with his claws now, bringing you nothing but pleasure with every touch, driving you quickly toward a third, screaming orgasm. You're granted only the briefest respite after, before a third finger presses into you, and you sob at the feeling. It's not more than you've taken before, but knowing what's coming, it feels so _full_ already; your hand flies up to your mouth when he slips a _fourth_ finger within you as well, and you bite down on it to try and stifle your cry. 

Your reward is a snarl, and his free hand rises to pinch a nipple _painfully_ between two claws. " _No_ ," he orders, and he releases your nipple to cup your breast in his hand, engulfing and squeezing it easily. "You will let me hear you."

He doesn't pull your hand from your mouth himself, but he doesn't have to; as soon as the order leaves his lips, you whimper, but pull it away. You curl it into the bedsheets instead and he smirks in approval, then he crooks his fingers within you _just right_. You have but a moment to be grateful that you'd had the foresight to raise your ward, because you _know_ that if you hadn't, the entire castle would hear the way you wail now. He's brought you so close- _so close_. 

"Please," you beg, and you're not sure _what_ you're begging for. Because you're _so close_ , but _so sensitive_ already, and all you've had is his fingers and tongue. " _Please,please,please,please,please_!" 

His fingers withdraw- not fully, but near it, and another sob escapes you. He doesn't leave you empty though; you don't look down, but you don't have to as you feel the way he shifts his hand. You know already what's coming as he presses forward again; your pleas falling from your lips like a prayer as Diavolo carefully, _carefully_ pushes his folded hand into you.

Fuck this- _this is new_. Never have you taken so much- never have you even thought about it, or talked about it. And his hand is _so large_ \- but even as he slips his folded hand deeper and deeper within you, stretching you slowly around it as if he's done this a thousand times before, you remember his cock and _know_. If he doesn't do this now, you will _never_ be claimed. There's pain, your channel stretching wider than you have _ever_ been stretched, and he pulls a litany of sobs and moans from you. Your world narrows further, now to _just_ the feel of his fist and the pain and pleasure of it. And then- 

Then he slides fully in, past the fold of his thumb; he stills there as he's engulfed within you to his wrist. He murmurs- _something_ as his free hand shifts down to stroke your stomach soothingly. Praises, you think, and _claims_. You're too lost in the feeling of him within you to properly take in his words as he lets you adjust. And by the time you're aware enough to hear him once more- he _moves_. 

Time becomes a blur as he fucks you tenderly with his fist, more careful with you than he has _ever_ been, more careful than even those first few times he had stripped you and brought you to pleasure at his hands. Your world is nothing but sharp, pinching pain that begins to fade to heated pleasure and need as you become used to the girth of his fist, and then- Then your world is nothing _but_ pleasure as he brings you to orgasm once more, only his hand on your belly keeping you pinned to the bed as you try to writhe around him.

You become aware, after that, that Diavolo carefully and tenderly pulls himself free from you. After being so _full_ as you'd been with his fist, it feels _strange_ to be empty again; you let out a little sob as your walls flutter around _nothing_ , and he soothes your whimpers with a tender kiss to the forehead, and more praises that you can't entirely understand in this moment. It still feels like an eternity of emptiness before you feel him shift over you, and then- 

Your whimpering shifts to a gasping groan of pleasure as the head of his cock presses against your entrance; it's not as wide as his fist had been, and your walls give him no resistance at first. Instinctively you try to wrap your lifted legs around him, try to pull him closer- but it's like trying to move a mountain. You have nowhere near the strength needed to force your lord to move at anything other than his own pace. If his low chuckle is any indication, he seems amused by your efforts. 

"No, my little mate," he says, and his voice is softer, more loving, than it's _ever_ been. "You will take me at _my_ pace, not yours, lest I break you." 

You whine helplessly; that's _not_ what you want. You want to be _full_ again, and he's feeding himself to you so _slowly_. Inch by inch he presses into you, slowly, his hands roaming your body as he goes. He grazes your clit once or twice, careful of how sensitive you are; you jump and gasp each time, and only his other hand on your hip keeps you still and in place on his cock. He gives your breasts the attention they haven't had yet, kneading them tenderly, rolling your nipples just right between his fingers, sending more and more surges of pleasure through you. And then, _finally_ , he presses deep enough that you feel yourself begin to _stretch_ as you hit the ridges of his length.

Again, his hand anchors your hip to keep you still when you try to jump, try to push yourself needily down further; your legs pull futilely at his own hips, knowing you can't make him move and yet still trying. You try to plead again, but all that leaves your lips are desperate noises; you're too far gone, words lost to you. He knows what you want regardless, and reassures you, 

"Soon, my dear. You will have all of me _soon_." 

You can _feel_ as its ridge stretches you further and further, your hole sinking back inwards after each one, your walls _clenching_ around all of his cock that you've taken, and still he thrusts _further_. Then he stills, and for the first time, you hear _him_ moan. You feel a deep rumble roll over you, and you realize he's speaking Infernal again- but _fuck_ the way it vibrates through you while he's inside you. You whimper in need- and then he begins to draw back. 

You find words again.

"No, no, no, no, god please-" 

He'd barely drawn back an inch; he stops at your words, and then _snaps_ forward with a snarl. It pushes his cock farther than he'd been, stretching you abruptly wider; the pain is sudden and _sharp_ , and you can't help the loud cry that escapes you. Nor can you help the way you _writhe_ in his grasp, although neither of you knows whether you're trying to escape him, or take _more_ of him. He folds down and leans over you, driving himself further into you by a single ridge, and growls in your ear, 

"Did I not tell you that you would take me at _my_ pace?" He pauses, dipping his head further to bite your neck _hard_ , fangs and teeth both breaking skin. He laps at the blood that begins to well up immediately, suckling at the wound for a moment. Then he asks, his voice lower, "Or do you wish me to stop now and leave you unclaimed?" 

Horror grips you for a moment- he _wouldn't_ , would he? He _can't_! ... Can he? He told you it wasn't possible- but you can't take that chance. 

" _ **No**_ ," you whimper, and the word repeats, becoming a babble. Diavolo smirks and laps at the blood on your neck again. He bites you higher on your neck, without breaking skin this time, and then he tells you, 

"Good. Because there is no god here, and you are _mine_. Do _not_ forget that."

You don't protest again after that, even when he draws back over and over, because each time he comes _back_ , thrusting deeper into you each time. It's slow, and you _desperately_ want more, and more _faster_ , but you've no choice. You refuse to chance him stopping, refuse to risk _losing_ this when it's finally so _close_. So you hold on, your grasp on the sheets tearing the fabric bit by bit as he slowly opens you up, each thrust and withdrawal tearing whines and whimpers and sobs from you as he goes. 

He's visibly sweating above you now, groans and gasps of his own escaping. He's _just_ as affected as you, you realize, despite his control. And _fuck_ if it isn't gratifying to see. You've never seen him like this; never seen him needy, and desperate, and lustful, or anything other than in _perfect_ control of himself. Is this what Lucifer sees when they're together? Is this what you'll get to see yourself, for the rest of your life, and then in death as well? There's a heady _power_ in knowing that he's this way because of _you_. A mere mortal. Someone who, if not for the winds of fate, would never have been anything but perhaps an insect at the feet of such a powerful immortal being. But you _are_ here, and he _is_ losing control because of _you_. 

If you were any less lost to your own need and desire, you might have gloated, but as it is... 

Then, finally. _Finally_. You feel it.

"You've taken me so well," he groans, and his voice is strained. You can feel the bulbous bulge at the base of his cock pressing against your hole; he rocks just so, and the way it rubs each ridge of his cock within your channel makes you whimper helplessly. You'd try to push down, but his grip is stronger than steel on your hips, holding you as still as he has the entire time. You try anyway; he groans, and his claws dig warningly into your skin. You whine, and despite how clearly a hard time he is keeping control of himself, he laughs low. 

He pulls you the _tiniest_ bit closer; your hole _aches_ as it tries to stretch again, and you _writhe_ breathlessly. He laughs again and asks, 

"Do you understand exactly what is to come?" 

Does he- does he expect you to _answer_? Does he expect you to have _words_ right now? You pant, and try, struggle, search within you for the ability to speak. Babbles are all that escape you, and he laughs _again_ , fuck why is that so _hot_?

He leans down again, his breath hot against your ear as he whispers. 

"I am going to claim you," he says. When he continues, his voice is darkly lustful, sin incarnate. "You will take all of me, and it will be like nothing you have ever felt before. I will _ruin_ you for all of eternity; no one will _ever_ be able to give you the kind of pleasure I can. I will bring you pleasure until you _beg_ me to stop, and then I will give you more. Only when I have had my fill- only when I have found my _own_ pleasure, will I grant you mercy. And then?" 

He laughs again, bites at your earlobe, tugging at it before releasing and finishing, "I will breed you and make you _mine_."

He gives you no warning. Diavolo snaps his hips, and there is _no more slow_. You've _never_ taken anything as wide as the base of his cock, but there is no more preparing, no more stretching, there is only fucking. Bit by bit he fucks himself into you, each drag of the ridges of his cock bringing you pleasure immeasurable, each thrust pushing more and more of that wide knot into you. His thumb finds your clit unerringly, rubbing it _just_ the way you love. The first time he finally fucks himself fully seated into your channel, you scream out an orgasm, sobbing and ripping entirely through the sheets you're grasping; Diavolo doesn't stop for even a split second. He fucks you through your fifth orgasm, pulling the entire knot out and thrusting back in sharply, his thumb ruthlessly continuing to tease your clit. 

He pulls one, two, _three_ orgasms out of you, one after another. You're sobbing for release before the sixth one, and _not_ for the release of more pleasure. You're so full, so _sensitive_ , that pleasure is becoming hellish pain. He shows you absolutely no mercy. No matter how you wail and cry, no matter how you try to struggle or writhe away, no matter when you release the torn sheets to pound on his chest, he keeps you close, always keeping himself sheathed within you. By your eighth orgasm, he stays _fully_ sheathed within you, the large knot at the base of his cock keeping you firmly in place.

He has yet to find his own release, and he chases it by rocking within you like that. He shifts you both, pulling you up from the bed and into his lap. His golden eyes are glazed over with need, you see from this close; red locks are sweat soaked, flat against his forehead, and his wings are _trembling_ around you, even as he keeps them wrapped around you both, keeping you both in your own little world. Then all thought flies from your mind as he rocks upward, and the new angle rubs the ridges of his cock against that most sensitive spot at the front of your walls. 

You come again, _completely_ unprepared- but you're not alone this time. As you cry out your pained pleasure, burying your face into his chest and shaking harder than you've ever shaken before, Diavolo growls and thrusts up into one more time. A dark _roar_ follows, and the first thing you feel is the hot spill of his seed within you. The second thing you feel is _pain_ as his knot expands within you, stretching you even _further_ than ever before. _Fear_ follows; he's so _wide_ now, how will he ever be able to pull out? He _can't_ , can he? Not without literally tearing you in two. 

Is this what he meant, what he warned you that you might not survive? Has he claimed you, only so that, when he's done with you, he'll tear you in two?

Then there's another sensation, strange enough that it cuts your fear short, strange enough that you can't fully understand what's happening. As you shudder in his arms, whimpering, his cock _pulses_ within you. It's a feeling similar to the way he's spilled himself inside you, but... less. Smaller. Then it pulses again, and this time it's _not_ smaller. Pain strikes you as he _groans_ through it; just above that large bulge, his cock seems to have grown _larger_ , stretching you further. The feeling shifts within you, within _him_ , stretching you all along the length of his cock as it moves. You whine as it gets to the head of his cock, where it's firmly pressed against your cervix, held there by his knot. You try to squirm, and he _hisses_ as he stills you by digging his claws into your hips deep enough to send blooding trickling down from each one. His next words are a low growl. 

"Be _still_ , mate. There is no escape now; you will take everything I have to give you." 

It's only as that wide bulge presses against your cervix that you realize what's happening, what he'd meant when he said he was going to _breed_ you. You _feel_ the way the long, oblong shape of the egg forces your cervix open; he thrusts up so that the head of his cock follows just enough to keep it open around it. You're trapped, and there is absolutely nothing you can do. 

He'd warned you. And you'd _begged_ for it.

All you can do now is cling to your prince. He holds you through it, large hands petting down your back as you shudder and shake in his arms. You lose all track of time as he praises you with each egg that slips into your womb, peppers kisses on your skin everywhere he can reach as he holds you close. You don't know how many eggs you take, but you _feel_ each one. You might have been able to keep track, except that Diavolo.... _Diavolo_... 

You think it was after the third that you'd begun to truly, _truly_ cry, completely overwhelmed and feeling lost and inconsolable. The tears tracked down your cheeks, then down the bare planes of his chest as they fell from you. You'd sobbed enough already, but this was _more_. He'd tried to calm you, but nothing he said could stem them. He'd tried something else instead. 

You lost count of how many eggs, because with each one came another small orgasm. His thumb works your clit as he passes each egg into your womb, and it's both _too much_ and _not enough_. You cry still, you shake still, but the added pained pleasure over your oversensitivity and orgasms turn the tears to something _other_ than confusion and unsurety. And your belly slowly grows with each new egg as you stretch around them.

You don't fully realize it by the time it's over. The stretching stops, your belly swollen so very, _very_ visibly; his thumb stills against your clit, leaving you only with the fading echoes of more pleasure than you would have thought humanly possible. You're boneless in your prince's arms; his words of praise have faded now, and he hums instead, stroking your back soothingly. Neither of you move otherwise; his cock is still locked within you, and he's careful now to give you no further stimulation. Every so often his humming pauses, and he whispers sweet nothings into your ear. 

He tells you that he loves you and that you are his, his mate; that you are his forever and that he will keep you forever. He reassures you that you will never escape him, and he will never let you go. That when you die, your soul will still be his, and he will bring you back to his side for eternity. He promises you that you will stand on your own as his mate; not in his shadow, and not in Lucifer's. 

He whispers _wicked_ things too. He tells you of the things he will do with you. You are his second mate, second to his first, and the _things_ he has in mind for both of his mates. _Together_. He speaks of both of you together, both of you bred; of you bred not only by him, but by Lucifer as well. He fantasizes about what both of you will look like, bellies rounded and full; how beautiful you'll both look when he confines you to his castle like that, forbids you clothing so that he can look upon your radiant beauty unhindered. He promises that Lucifer will mate you and claim you as well; his mate has wanted a pet for some time, after all, and you would fill that role so _perfectly_. 

You fall asleep in his arms like that, his voice filling your ears and mind and thoughts, and you dream of that future.

**Author's Note:**

> !!!!!!! [2manyhusbandos1](https://twitter.com/2manyhusbandos1) on twitter made a fantastic sketch of Diavolo's, mmmm, _unique_ anatomy in this fic, and it can be found [here](https://twitter.com/2manyhusbandos1/status/1344797072999018498)! Go check it out, and check out the rest of their art too, it's absolutely lovely!
> 
> As always, many thanks to my wife, [Gyhl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gyhl), who is my beta and who gets to put up with me shoving stuff at them and praying that it's okay. XD Many thanks to m'darlin' [PhantomFox](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhantomFox/pseuds/PhantomFox) for helping beta as well!
> 
> If you're on tumblr, you can find me at [PanickedPansexualPrincess](http://PanickedPansexualPrincess.tumblr.com).


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